


Point of View

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: D/s Realtionship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Riding, collaring, leashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re made of my rib, oh baby<br/>You’re made of my sin<br/>And I can’t tell where your lust ends<br/>And where your love begins…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of View

Wing gasped, tugging hard on the heavy leather leash in his hand.

Deadlock dipped low, thighs shivering where they were spread around Wing’s hips as he rode slowly; raising with a groan and dropping like deadweight onto the flier’s throbbing spike.

“Th-That’s it, darling, that’s perfect…”, Wing hissed from between his dentae, back arching after his hips rolled to thrust up into Deadlock’s squirming figure.

The ex-Con whined low, twitching his hips and shuddering weakly. He was fighting overload, fighting as hard as he could but his frame was burning with helpless desire. Wing rocked his spike up into Deadlock again, and the ex-Con gasped hoarsely.

“S-Sir-”

“Mmn, yes precious one?”

“I-I’m.. I’m too close I…”

Wing purred his praise, coaxing Deadlock to raise up and let the spike slip free of his clenching valve. The ex-Con sat on Wing’s legs, shaking and wheezing through his ex-vents as he tried to gain more than a servotip’s hold on his body- as his valve clenched and throbbed and his spike dripped silver transfluid down its glimmering shaft.

“Oh my…”, purred Wing, running a servo along Deadlock’s spike just to watch the mech arch his back and grit his fangs together, “You look lovely like this… so lovely.”

Wing nudged Deadlock to move off his legs, to drop to the berth as Wing hummed softly in his throat. He coaxed and prodded, moved and petted, until Deadlock was sprawled on the berth like a Renaissance painting.

“Open your legs, my angry little lover.”

Deadlock obeyed, he obeyed with a hazey kind of eagerness, optics nearly whited out as he sprawled.

Wing looped the leash over part of the headboard, leaving enough slack for Deadlock to move- but not enough to duck his head and hide his expression.

“Do you want to overload, Deadock?”

“Pl-please, I…”

“I know, pretty one, precious one.”, cooed Wing, “You are not to hide your face, do you understand?”

Deadlock nodded, glancing at the loose hitch of the leash on the headboard slats.

“Do not hide your voice, do you understand?”

Another nod.

“Very good.”

And Wing moved to settle between Deadlock’s thighs, and his glossa flicked out to lap at the head of an almost-too-hard spike.

Deadlock arched his back with a hoarse gasp as Wing continued to lap at the twitching shaft, reveling in Deadlock’s whimpers and baritone whines of his dominant’s title. A slurred stream of “Sir” and “please” that made Wing’s still exposed spike bob from each pulse of desire.

“Deadlock.”, said Wing softly, firmly, as he moved from lapping at Deadlock’s spike to stroking with a slow grip.

“Ye-nngh-y esss?”

“Overload.”

Two tight strokes and Deadlock was coming undone. The ex-Con writhed and thrashed, optics whiting out like a dwarf-stars glow and Wing licked his lipplates. He moved again, grabbing Deadlock’s hips and lifting them before he pushed his own spike into the wildly clenching valve.

Wing’s head tilted back, and he moaned at the slick bite of squeezing calipers before he tightened his grip on Deadlock’s hips and eased back just enough-

“Overload as much as you’d like, darling. You’ve done well today.”

And Wing’s hip surged forward, plating crashing together only to have the sound be drowned out by Deadlock’s roaring howl. Wing kept a furious pace, baring his dentae as Deadlock’s glossa draped out the side of the ex-Con’s open mouth- as his vocalizer broke in half along a gravel-rough wail to spit only static.

Deadlock’s body jerked and shuddered, overload after overload stripping his sensornet raw as he screamed and snarled; as his optic feed went greyscale and his voice became raw feedback and he clawed at the berth and the headboard as his legs shook like reeds in a storm.

When Wing’s hips finally snapped forward, the flier’s body lurching as transfluid spurted into Deadlock’s valve, the rebuilt mech shuddered hard and lay limp. Steam trickled from his vents, and his helm lay on the pillow with half-shuttered and dim optics.

Wing moaned thickly; his hips jerking once, then twice before he was able to straighten and focus.

Deadlock’s abdomen was streaked in lines of silver like ambrosia, and Wing chuckled. His servotips pushed the mercurial fluid over the plating, watching the microseams flare and twitch from the sensations tapping at a near-singed sensornet.

Deadlock onlined after a moment, blinking blearily before looking up at Wing with a sedated smile.

“What do you say, darling?”

_“Thank you, Sir.”_


End file.
